The Grapevine
by Settely
Summary: a couple of less known situation taking place during Alexander's reign; mostly historically accurate
1. wedding nights

**A/N: Something different, a small series of literature sketches of two or more situations that have something in common with each other. Might get graphic as I'd like to experiment with this story. Give me a piece of your mind on this as always, dears.**

Some of those entries will be either a bit AUish (as I neither know, nor have any sources that make it clear or even describe the given situation in the least) but as much historically probable as my knowledge now enables it. If you have any questions on the bits being mentioned here, ask me.

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><p><strong>WEDDING NIGHTS<strong>

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><p><strong><em>Roxana<em>**

Her father promised her him just a few hours ago, giving away everything dear just to seal peace. Alexander nearly hears the blood flush him when it fills his head at the sight of Roxana at the door to her private chambers. She blinks steadily at him with a smile, not surprised at the intrusion at all, gesturing to him to join her as she sways her hips inside.

When they kiss for the very first time, Alexander hasn't even heard her speak once. He kneads her dress with his fists, curvy and firm breasts protruding lightly from underneath colourful material, irritating his insides pleasurably. The girl is long ago half his age, small like a doll, her hair glistening like coal underneath the candle's light, the sweet smell of her perfumes intoxicating him.

Roxana's lips are plump and he tastes them greedily, his tongue coming onto her gums and teeth. He sucks the flesh slowly, letting his hands wander. The girl's breath becomes heavier after some time, her jet-black eyes glazing over and heat colouring her cheeks crimson red. He maneuvers her onto the nearest wall, head coming onto leathers and his hands encircling it like Helios' flames the Sun.

She tastes of sugar coated fruit and smoke, the taste heavy and lively on Alexander's palate.

Suddenly Roxana hooks her arms round his neck and pushes upwards, catching him off guard. They crumble to the floor, his back hitting the wood heavily, with no grace. She growls, chewing lightly the skin on his collarbone and chest, pulling down his chition and cloak. Then she opens his mouth with her own tongue, saliva spilling onto their chins. She moans something incoherently in their local language while Alexander tries to push her off of himself. They fight for dominance over each other for a split couple of seconds and he grabs the folds of her dress finally, hurling her onto the bed just a feet away from them.

When he looks down at her trembling, spread wide arms and legs, Alexander doesn't feel anything. Flames dance on the many torches surrounding them, shadows flickering, growing narrower and then bigger once again as the wind plays round in the corridors. A chill finds its way up his spine as he bends down to look into her eyes, fright enlarging Roxana's pupils to the size of Greek coins.

"Welcome home, my queen." He slams his lips onto hers before she can say anything in return, his fingers encircling her waist. He feels a tear spill onto his cheek as he deepens the kiss, the watery drop burning hot. He quickly forgets about it though, the girls' hands snaking onto his back and bringing him closer.

He can already hear her sigh.

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><p><em><strong>Hephaestion<strong>_

When Alexander stumbles into his bedroom after the great feast, every torch is already stone cold for at least a couple of hours. The room is deserted and smells distinctly of oranges.

"Bagoas?" He calls for the boy, half hoping not to have him around for at least one night. He walks, step by step, grabbing cups on his way and inspecting their contents, searching for wine. Alexander is thirsty, thirstier than he could ever remember being, even though he has just had far more than a dozen of mouthfuls throughout the evening. The air feels hot and his skin clammy, shining with perspiration.

The moon is high in the velvet blue sky, its full face shining through the vast windows and curtains blinding. He looks outside for a moment, following with his eyes a few tress being bent by the wind. They seem to dance underneath its skillful fingers, flowing rhythmically, in harmony one moment, the other though nearly breaking in a half. There's some breeze hidden in-between the colder layers, droplets of salty water cooling the heat delicately, kissing his skin good-night it seems.

He is now the great emperor at last, with all the titles and honors, isn't he? He's married Roxana and today Stateira and Parysatis became his brides as well. If everything goes well, Zeus have them in his care, a new great dynasty might soon bloom! It's still hard to believe but Alexander basks in the glory and happiness filling him like a newborn eagle welcomes the first rays of sunlight in spring.

Hephaestion's children will be related to his.

It's something out of this world, something so beautiful that he wants to stand up and shout it out to the whole world.

"Alexander? Are you in here?" A stifled laughter, a delicate melody echoing among the walls. Hephaestion's golden wreath shimmers in the light the torch he's holding casts, his silhouette erect and eyes bright. Just like a newly made chiliarch should present himself.

There's a new bottle full of wine in his hand and his smile is full of stars.

There are no wives now just like they have never been before when they were together and it's one of those rare times that Alexander can say with ease that he doesn't have any secrets to remember not to spill before the man.

When Alexander embraces Hephaestion, warmth of their respective bodies mixing into one underneath the moonlight, no words are needed and the torch dies down with a hiss from wind's affectionate kiss.

In the early morning, Stateira, Parysatis and Drypetis mourn their future already full of disgrace as the second day of celebrating the weddings in Susa is about to bloom to its full beauty of unfulfilled dreams and needed deeds.

Roxana doesn't cry. She has four more days for that still on hand.

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><p><em>Roxana's wedding night is my imagination (although, I wanted to show ancient outlook on woman's behavior and free will). The one of Stateira, Parysatis and Drypetis' is not - Alexander and Hephaestion spent it together, drinking in the king's bedroom till they were both drunk to the verge of unconsciousness(?). Leaving a girl on their wedding night was a disgrace to her, undermining her femininity. Well, guess what spending it with a man meant in such circumstances. <em>


	2. chances

**A/N: I hope you will like this chapter just as much as the last one. I'll answer all your questions if you have any.**

I base this series mostly on **_Alexander the Great: Murder in Babylo_n** by Graham Phillips, _**Alexander of Ma****c**_**_edon_** by Peter Green and other various historical sources. Mostly though, I use the knowledge gathered in the first publication because it mentions many nuances and small details like this pearl I mention in this story, I've never heard of even after reading many things on Alexander so far.**  
><strong>

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><p><strong>CHANCES<strong>

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><p><em><strong>Arrhidaeus <strong>_

The sun is high in the sky when they see the blue ocean of flowers surrounding the graves and the ruins. From the distance, they all seem tiny like blue ants going to and fro, swaying under the wind but as they come nearer and nearer, the view gets just more beautiful. It feels eerie at best, the famous Ilion being buried beneath plants and petals as delicate as bird's feathers.

Alexander's eyes shine with fascination, his smile radiant and contagious. He calls to his officers to come and look at the myth emerging itself before their very eyes. He laughs, pearly and yet raspy sound shaking his chest, the breeze from the Aegean Sea cooling everybody's skin soothingly.

After a few hours they come upon a few small villages and their dwellers shout with joy upon seeing Alexander and the army. Arrhidaeus doesn't say a thing when his brother is being decorated with olive leaves and how people are all smiles while talking to him. He can feel the starting of yet another headache coming his way but he still hears the talks about Olympics that just need to be organized to brighten the myth and show Alexander as the new Achilles.

The feast will be spectacular because his brother doesn't tolerate myths being disrespected, especially when he is the one meant for one of the roles.

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><p>When they pitch, as the sun begins to settle behinds the woods and hills in a pool of fire, there are gossips spreading as quickly among the soldiers as only a disease could. The buzzing keeps Arrhidaeus constantly on edge. The Olympics, the mythological and beautiful ones, just like those Achilles threw after Patroclus' death, are meant to happen tomorrow in the late afternoon. He doesn't even need to ask to know who will be Achilles because who else apart from his perfect brother feeds on the tale as strongly and predatorily as only a leech can? Propaganda, religion, all game to have the mob and aristocracy believe him and accept him just like did the ones back in Macedon.<p>

Arrhidaeus isn't as bitter now as he used to be at the beginning of Alexander's reign. After the years of being humiliated, of having that Epirus witch the king calls his mother whisper her spells and water him the elixirs from her cauldrons, he has gone mad. At least, in everybody's opinion. He could never rule as a king alone, not with the attacks and the gossips, Alexander whispering utter gibberish and yet smiling at him softly as if nothing happened. If only Phillip saw what has happened to his eldest son, oh Zeus!, no scheming of that horrendous creature calling herself queen would be needed to floor him!

Soldiers keep on saying that Patroclus' role is still vacant and voices has already raised that he, Arrhidaeus, should take it. He should have become their king, at least the great role of one of the best warriors could still befall him! His brother is considering it for weren't the heroes brothers in one version of the myth? The king should do that, his brother is of a great importance to all of them and should be rewarded!

And the man believes them, a smile playing on his lips, a soft move of the lips turning his lanky cheeks upwards and changing his whole silhouette noticeably. Arrhidaeus comes out of his tent and joins the army round one of the many bonfires, the smoke smelling of delicious meat, his face absorbing heat and joy. He doesn't bow his head one of those rare times and he looks everybody in the eye, proud of himself. He can be great as well, he can be valuable.

He can resemble Alexander and be on the pedestal this time as well.

People talk to him, some officers that opted for him becoming the king squeezing his bony shoulders reassuringly, whispering reassurances into his ear. And the youth can feel strings of tears falling down his cheeks slowly, hope gathering in him, clasped together with happiness like a pair of lovers.

Then comes one of the young buglers, orange and bloody red from the fire dancing across his torso and exposed arms and he signals the king coming to join his men on supper.

Alexander's teeth shimmer in the last rays of the dying sun and the colours of his eyes change to and fro, the lighter becoming dark blue, the darker gossamer. Soldiers call out to him, smiles pulling their lips taunt and Arrhidaeus can't pull his eyes off of him. Muscles move underneath the tunic and sweat shimmer on the skin like pearls. Even though the man is smaller than average, his built strong and face clear-shaven, nothing bad can be said about his physique, all the less about his mind or soul. He doesn't get attacks, isn't resented because of some gossiping and considered an abnormal, horrendous monstrosity.

He's happy and he's the king, not Arrhidaeus with his wise answers to Aristotle's questions and curiosity that matched Alexander's.

Arrhidaeus wants to wave at Alexander and smile at him as widely as his brother has never seen him do before as the king settles onto his place of honor. There is another chair beside the sleek throne and he is pretty sure for whom it is waiting. He is already raising one of his hands when suddenly a man moves from within folds of Alexander's tent and claims the place that was supposed to be Arrhidaeus', as his.

Arrhidaeus watches the sun settle into the eyes of the same colour as the flowers eating Ilion alive, feeling his muscle go slack, his bones disappearing. He backs into the shadows as Alexander embraces the man affectionately and a guttural yell of joy tears itself from thousands of throats. His face sinks into itself and if he didn't know better, he'd think it were tears, not smoke that started to cloud his vision as the new Patroclus flashed his dazzling teeth, happiness surrounding him like a halo borrowed from Helios for a day or two.

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><p>Hephaestion Amyntoros is beautiful and when he runs naked among the whitened with age ruins the next day, olive oil glistening across every soft curve and taut muscle of his, Alexander laughs as clearly as he only can, chasing him like a hunter does with his prey, his own oiled silhouette shimmering in the sunlight between the cypresses. There is laughter, celebrations and sacrifices but it was then when the two shapeliest wreaths went onto the graves of the heroes that the future king that was supposed to be the king all along felt himself breaking, as if the witch was just beside him and kept feeding him her poisonous spells.<p>

Achilles had Homer and Patroclus. There was no vacant role left for an idiot like Arrhidaeus in his life and during Alexander's speech it hit him like a fist.

He stays in the shadows for the rest of the ceremonies, laurels being given to the winners and the last wine offerings flowing into the ground down Hephaestion's and Alexander's cups, their laughter, flushed cheeks and still sleek from the oil bodies pulsing in the heat, on their honor places, still close to each other.

If Arrhidaeus didn't know better, upon seeing their gazes befalling each other, secretive smiles, the whispering and then that close proximity during the race, he could swear they have chosen the other version of the myth.

But even if they did, Homer and Aeschylus were surely smiling warmly down at them.

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><p><strong><em><span>In a word, do ask me for more info if you want to:<span>_**

**Arrhidaeus** - an illegitimate son of Phillip II and Philinna of Larissa, his Greek wife. He was the eldest son in the family and had the right to take the throne. He was thought to be mentally retarded though and so Alexander took the reign instead of him after their father's death. His problems weren't inborn however because he used to study by Aristotle with his half-brother and proved to be quite a brilliant student, matching Alexander in his curiosity and knowledge. Some believed therefore that it was Olympias who made him retarded, via giving him poisons and so on (she had a big knowledge of medicine and poisonous things because of her commitment in Dionysus' cult). Gossiping started and even though Arrhidaeus was a brilliant youth still and his illness was somewhat temporal (he had fits of it and some periods everything was fine, others not, especially when Olympias was near; it could be either epilepsy, schizophrenia or something connected with the mood), he was and is mostly seen as being fully mentally retarded.

According to Graham Phillips' book such a situation like this described above did take place.

After Alexander's death, Arrhidaeus became a king (Philip III Arrhidaeus ) but had some regents. He ruled for about six years but soon was brought with his wife to Olympias (after a failed escape attempt) to Pella where they rotted away in prison in a small cell. He was killed on her command in 317 B. C., punctured with swords by Track soldiers. His wife chose to hang herself on her belt (Olympias offered her cicuta, a dagger and a rope) the same day her husband was murdered.

Allegedly, Alexander liked him or even loved him as his brother.

* **Aeschylus** wrote a tragedy about the Troy called _ Myrmidoni _that was very popular in Alexander's times. It portrayed Achilles and Patroclus as lovers.


End file.
